s gods have any power, thou wilt feel
thy punishment amid the rocks, and will call on the name of Dido;
I shall hear, and this report will come to me below."--AEneid, iv.
382, 387.]

Xenophon was sacrificing with a crown upon his head when one came to
bring him news of the death of his son Gryllus, slain in the battle of
Mantinea: at the first surprise of the news, he threw his crown to the
ground; but understanding by the sequel of the narrative the manner of a
most brave and valiant death, he took it up and replaced it upon his
head. Epicurus himself, at his death, consoles himself upon the utility
and eternity of his writings:

"Omnes clari et nobilitati labores fiunt tolerabiles;"

["All labours that are illustrious and famous become supportable."
--Cicero, Tusc. Quaes., ii. 26.]

and the same wound, the same fatigue, is not, says Xenophon, so
intolerable to a general of an army as to a common soldier. Epaminondas
took his death much more cheerfully, having been informed that the
victory remained to him:

"Haec sunt solatia, haec fomenta summorum dolorum;"

["These are sedatives and alleviations to the greatest pains."
--Cicero, Tusc. Quaes., ii. 23.]

and such like circumstances amuse, divert, and turn our thoughts from the
consideration of the thing in itself. Even the arguments of philosophy
are always edging and glancing on the matter, so as scarce to rub its
crust; the greatest man of the first philosophical school, and
superintendent over all the rest, the great Zeno, forms this syllogism
against death: "No evil is honourable; but death is honourable; therefore
death is no evil"; against drunkenness this: "No one commits his secrets
to a drunkard; but every one commits his secrets to a wise man: therefore
a wise man is no drunkard." Is this to hit the white? I love to see
that these great and leading souls cannot rid themselves of our company:
perfect men as they are, they are yet simply men.

Revenge is a sweet passion, of great and natural impression; I discern it
well enough, though I have no manner of experience of it. From this not
long ago to divert a young prince, I did not tell him that he must, to
him that had struck him upon the one cheek, turn the other, upon account
of charity; nor go about to represent to him the tragical events that
poetry attributes to this passion. I left that behind; and I busied
myself to make him relish